


“Guren *níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham”

by WithywindlesDaughter



Series: Commissions [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Other, Unexpected friendships, What Happened After, aesthetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithywindlesDaughter/pseuds/WithywindlesDaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of two Princes who become two friends and what happens after BoFA and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Guren *níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Violette_Pleasures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violette_Pleasures/gifts).



> This story is for Shy Little Violette, who runs a beautifully aesthetic blog on Tumblr. She asked for a Kili/Legolas pairing, but I could not bring myself to write my usual smutly heathen trash - I had to make it better than that for her, because she's just that kind of sweet and gentle person.

  
  


 

 

 

 

**“Guren *níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham”**

_(My heart will weep to the time when we will meet again)_  
  
  


_for Shy Little Violette_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**“Down Where Nothing Grows”**

  
  


The first time Legolas saw him he was pressed back-to-back with his brother, fighting off the giant spiders that had invaded his beloved Greenwood. The Dwarf had used a sword then, but carried upon his back a fine shortbow and quiver of arrows. They were sick from spider bites and hungry and lost, bruised from their ordeal, and while he was irritated to find them off the road he was shocked when his father had thrown them into his dungeons. His father and King had an old and rather bitter dispute with the Dwarves and their King which flared-up the moment they saw each other and he was just as unreasonable about Dwarves as they were about Elves.

So he looked at the small bow - much smaller than an Elf would ever use, and the strange, square-tipped arrows, and wondered at what strange creatures they were, and if they were as horrible as his father said they were. On his walks to accompany the healers to the cells they certainly seemed to be, shouting at spitting at him, cursing in their strange guttural language or hiding their faces from him. But the archer stood looking at him with his great dark eyes, so different from the eyes of an Elf. He was very young, that Legolas could see, and watched the Elves with curiosity.

Legolas noticed him looking at his bow. “This one is much bigger than the one you use.”

“Mine is quick,” the Dwarf replied. “And good in close quarters.”

Legolas had to admit he had a point there. “If you were not locked away perhaps we could have a competition to see who is the better.”

“So unlock my door and return my bow,” the other said softly.

Legolas smirked. He was almost tempted. “You think me slow-witted.”

The Dwarf blinked innocently. “Not for an Elf, no.”

Legolas heard a quickly-stifled laugh from one of the healers. The Dwarf was still looking at him with an innocent expression upon his face. “If you are done,” he said to the healer without taking himself away from those eyes. “We should go.”

 

He returned to check on them every day, more out of curiosity than of need, and sometimes he stopped to speak with the  archer. “You would think that you would enjoy being down underground, Dwarf.”

“Kili.”

“I do not understand that word.”

The Dwarf rolled his eyes and Legolas found it enduring. “Kili. My name is Kili.”

“Oh,” Legolas thought on that for a moment. “I thought Dwarves did not reveal their names to anyone.”

“We do not,” replied Kili. “But one must be called something.”

Legolas raised his eyebrows. “I could just call you Dwarf.”

Kili stood and leaned against the bars of his cell. “I was not born to the stone.”

Legolas sat down to better put himself face-to-face with the young Dwarf. “I was under the impression Dwarves sprang straight from the rock itself.” He immediately regretted his words as the Dwarf’s face hardened.

“I have not met many Elves on my travels,” said Kili. “But I have not met one that gave me offence until I came to this place.”

Legolas ducked his head. “Forgive me. I meant no hurt.”

Kili looked at him for a moment, considering. Then he spoke. “My Amad was of those that took flight from Erebor when the dragon came. She came to make her home in Ered Luin, but our people were poor and many of us lived above ground. I was raised under blue skies and tall trees, and while I am no stranger to the stone, I prefer to spend the day in the forest, my bow in my hand.”

“You and I are not so different then, for the forest has always been my home.” Legolas smiled a genuine smile at the thought of his beloved trees.

And the seeds of friendship were planted in the long hours between waking and sleeping, when there was nothing to do and no one to speak to but the Elves who came and went. Legolas never knew he was speaking to a young Prince. Neither did Kili. They just found that they had much to speak of - Kili and his journeys through the lands of the West, Legolas and his rides to Lorien, tales of hunting trips and and nights spent fletching arrows by the fire and the ones that got away.

 

And then they were gone, having stuffed clothing into their beds to make it look as if they were sleeping and locking the cell doors behind them, although how they got the keys was anybody’s guess. He could only assume that the Warden had either dropped his keys after sampling wine with the Steward or simply gotten too close to one of the cell doors and not noticed they were missing. Upon passing the Warden’s chambers he noted that the Dwarves had not been able to retrieve their weapons and a dark foreboding fell upon him for he knew of their quest from his father.

_“Farad vaer, Kili,”_ he whispered. _“Hunt well.”_

  
  
  
  
  
  


**“He’s Still Breathing!”**

  


When he saw the little archer again he was once again fighting alongside of his brother, only now they were flanking Thorin Oakenshield in the middle of a field of orcs and Dwarves. He could see that all three of them were injured and wore grim faces. Thorin had charged up onto the hill where Bolg and his guard were standing with a mighty battle cry to rally the Dwarves behind him, Kili and his brother close behind. It was a brave move, one that turned the focus of the enemy away from the main battle as every orc on the field wanted to be the one to slay the King Under the Mountain.

It was hard going for them, and as Legolas fought his way forward with his own Elves he saw the Dwarves overwhelmed and his heart failed. They fought forward, the attention of the orc army turned towards them now, and he could not see what was happening on the hill. In the end, it was not the Elves or the Dwarves who won the battle, but the arrival of Gwaihir the Windlord and his eagles that assaulted the enemy from the above, knocking goblins from the cliff faces and the fell creatures from the sky. And then the enemy broke as Beorn the Skinchanger plowed through them, taking up the injured Thorin to safety before destroying Bolg and his guard in his rage.

And when Bard and Thranduil made their way to Thorin’s tent to make their reconciliations, Legolas made his way upon the hill where he saw them fall. Several of the Company were kneeling in a circle around two fallen Dwarves, their eyes full of tears. The brothers lay next to each other where they had fallen defending Thorin, shields rent, bodies covered in fearful wounds. Legolas knelt down next to the little archer and placed a gentle hand upon his chest. _“Harthon gerithach raid gelin a melthin.”_

Almost in response he felt a thready movement, almost too frail to be real. _“Kili?”_ He leaned closer. Yes, there is was! “Call the healers! He’s still breathing!”

  


When Kili’s eyes finally opened it was to the sight of worried friends gathered about him, and he thought _“This can’t be good.”_ He had been dreaming the strangest dreams, of great battles, of running after Thorin, of Fili… Oh Mahal! Fili! He struggled to rise but they were holding him down. The pain hit him then - rolling waves of it from his chest, as if he were breaking open. He was falling back under their hands; screaming, he couldn’t stop screaming… and then a soothing hand was pressed over his forehead and he was sinking back into peaceful light, like the forest in springtime and the hurt fell away. _“Rest, mellon. Your brother yet lives, and he is King Under the Mountain.”_

  


The next time he woke he was alone. Or at least it looked like he was alone. All he could see was a white canvas roof and drapes that blew around him in the breeze. Gone was the smell of ash and decay. Gone was the ever-present sense of fear. He could smell… was that sage? And incense. And green moss that grew in the woods. _“Adum-rum, naddith.”_

He turned towards the whispered greeting. Fili was laying on a cot not an arm’s length away from him. He reached out and let his fingertips brush the skin painted with bruises and stitching. So much hurt. He tried to speak, but his throat wouldn’t work. _I lost you. I tried to follow you. Thorin is gone from us._ He tasted salty tears and the words refused to come.

_“I saw him, Kili. In the Halls of Waiting. I saw him.”_

_I know. I was behind you._

_“He made me go back. He said ‘Not yet. You are needed.’”_

_Do not go without me, nadad._

Fili glanced up at the small bedside table next to their beds. On it was a beautifully carved wooden box. The lid was up and a crown was nestled within. It was not the black-on-gold Raven Crown Thorin had worn, that one had been entombed with him - but a red-on-gold crown with two roaring lions meeting in the center around a large, dark blue stone and studded about with small rubies so it glittered. Blue, almost purple, like the color of his brother’s eyes. The eyes of his King.

Kili gestured towards it, his throat still too taught for speech. Fili smiled and rolled his eyes. “The Lion of Erebor,” he whispered. “That is what they are calling me. Dain will stand for us until we are strong enough. We must have one made for you.”

Their eyes locked as they shared the same thought. _He should be here. I am not ready for this._

Kili squeezed his brother’s hand. _I am here. We will do this together._

  
  
  


**“From the Ashes”**

  


The road back was long for the Dwarves who had fought in the battle, no less so than the Sons of Dis. The hurts they had suffered trying to save Thorin were grievous, and they both suffered from fevers and night terrors. Oin hovered about them during the day, making poultices for their wounds and forcing them to drink foul-smelling teas. The Elven healers came in the evenings, pale hands with long fingers stroking over their worried brows to chase away the night terrors.

Often Legolas came to sit next to Kili to speak softly until the Dwarf could fall into a blissfully nightmare-free sleep. Their friends came every day to visit. Dwalin had taken the worst injury after them, but worse was his crushing sense of guilt over Thorin. Bofur came with his beautiful singing voice. Ori with the books that he had found. Bilbo to say his sad goodbyes as he left for Bag End.

Balin worked with Dain on the administration of the mountain, Fili being adamant about throwing open the treasury doors and dispersing a good portion of the hoard on the rebuilding of Lake Town and Dale. They made the tent as regal as possible, as the brothers were in no condition to move any distance yet, and Fili received official visitors wrapped up in warm robes and furs, seated in a large wooden chair. The moment the audience was over he would slip out from under the Lion Crown and they would move him back to bed.

Often Legolas would come and sit with him while Fili met with Balin and Dain or received guests. They would speak in hushed voices; Legolas about the lands that had reawakened in the absence of the dragon, Kili about the fear and anxiety he tried to keep hidden from his brother.

“Your brother has the makings of a fine King. Once his body heals he will take up his crown and the mantle of leadership for your people.”

Kili frowned and shifted where he was propped up in the bed. He didn’t like being confined even if he was injured. He was angry. Angry at the people who were pulling his brother from his sickbed. Angry at himself for not protecting him better in the battle. Angry at Thorin for dying after leading them halfway across Middle Earth on a fool’s errand… “He should be here,” he said for the thousandth time.

“I know, Mellon,” Legolas replied, not for the first time. “His road fell short, but your’s goes on.”

Kili glared at him, which would have been adorable if the Elf had not witnessed firsthand much of his pain and his terror in the days following the battle. They were interrupted as Thranduil swept into the room, all luxurious robes and mithril. _“Legolas~ion.”_

Legolas knew his father resorted to Sindarin in front of the Dwarves because they did not speak it and it was in his nature to be condescending to. It was not an enduring trait. _“Suilad, Adar._ Did you find what you came for?”

“If you are speaking of the heirlooms we requested to be returned to us, yes,” Thranduil nodded. “But what of my wild son? When may I look to his return?”

All Kili knew of heirlooms was of the Arkenstone, which had brought them so much grief. Fili had asked Balin to pack a chest for the Elven King to take but Kili had been too tired to pay much attention. He didn’t like being left out of the conversation, though, and scowled at Thranduil from his bed.

“There is much work for me here,” Legolas replied. “I shall stay for some days yet.”

“As you wish.” Thranduil turned to go, nearly bumping into young Ori who was scampering in, book in hand.

“Oh!” Ori looked up then paused to give a small bow with one hand across his chest. _“Êl síla nan lû e-govaded vín.”_

They all looked at Thranduil. He was quite taken aback and for a moment just stood looking down at the little scholar. Finally Legolas whispered, _“Adar…”_

Thranduil snapped back into his diplomatic self and raised a hand to his chest. “I thank you…”

“Ori!”

_“Ori. Hortho le huil vaer.”_ And with that he swept out before anyone could reply.

Ori looked at Legolas. “Did I say it wrong?”

The Elf smiled. “No, you said it perfectly. My father was not expecting to hear Sindarin from a Dwarf.”

“Wait!” Kili looked between the two of them with confusion. “Thranduil is your father?”

“Of course he is,” Fili’s voice sounded as Oin and Balin helped him back to his bed.

“But that makes you a Prince!” Kili’s mood was not helped by the sound of laughter.

“I am, as are you I have recently discovered.” Legolas’ face turned pink.

Kili frowned. He hadn’t meant to make his friend feel uncomfortable. Legolas stood. “I must look in on the other wounded.”

Kili watched him go, his brother and friends discussing the meeting with Thranduil at Fili’s bedside.

  
  


**“The Raven of Erebor”**

  
  


And so in time Fili stood up and took the crown and his rightful place as King - The Golden Lion of Erebor. And his reign heralded a new era of prosperity for Durin’s folk and for many of their kind. Contrary to their fears it seemed the curse of dragon-sickness had been broken with Thorin’s sacrifice and so not only was he generous with those who had aided them in the battle but he saw to it that gold was sent back to Ered Luin so that even the poorest of the exiles could return to the Lonely Mountain.

Kili found he had no patience for long council meetings, ledgers and blueprints. He missed the outside world. He did not like the fancy robes or the jeweled circlet he had to wear on formal occasions. He longed for his bow and the hunt with his brother at his side. In sympathy, Fili asked him to serve as liaison between Erebor, Dale, Lake Town and especially the Greenwood, where his friendship with the King’s son opened doors for congenial relations.

_“Kili! Glass nín gen achened!”_ Legolas and his company of Elves arrived at the Dwarf encampment at the eaves of the Greenwood.

_“Legolas, mellon!”_ Kili reached up to pat shoulders with the tall Elf. “I was hoping you would be the one to meet us.”

“I have only just returned to the Greenwood. I have come from Imladris, the House of Elrond and his kin.” Together they walked slowly back towards the largest tent. “I was with the Dúnedain. We roamed as far west as Bree and as far north as Fornost.”

“Then you do have a tale to tell!” Kili indicated a place where a folding camp table and benches had been set up. “Drink with us. I’m sure Balin will have questions about your journey…”

 

* * *

 

_Butterflies falling down the shafts of light between the trees. The little sparkling dust motes that settle on their faces. Tiny spiderwebs beaded with dew-like necklaces that lasted only a day. The Greenwood breathed in and out in ageless rhythm as two unlikely friends lay on the grass in a clearing looking up at the sky. Kili looked at a patch of blue. Is that what Bilbo saw? The sky blue like a crystal, so far away and yet right there, close enough to touch. He turned and looked at Legolas and understood they shared more than an unwillingness to be locked away. There was a sense of wonder, a burning need to find out what’s next, and it wasn’t fulfilled in council chambers or on high thrones. Reading his thoughts the Elf looked over at him and smiled. Those eyes, same as the sky._

 

* * *

 

The Elves came and coaxed the forest to grow from the ashen lands. The pines came first, laying down their carpets of fragrant needles and birds and squirrels followed close behind to nest and chase pinecones. After that came the mighty oaks in the lower elevations. The flat lands along Esgaroth and Dale sprouted thick grass and soon herdsmen moved their animals in. Life was returning.

Kili took Legolas on a tour of the Mountain, pointing out such wonders of Dwarven craft as the giant furnaces, the gemworks and the now much-reduced treasury. “You should have seen it,” Kili motioned out over the huge open space that had been the Nest of Smaug. “This was just full of treasure, like a snowdrift and we were all wading around in it.”

“I did see it, when my father came to collect the white gems,” Legolas commented. “I could see why Thror was so glamoured by it.”

“So were all at first.” Kili looked sadly out over the room. “I was raised on stories of that treasure - on winter nights when we were snowed in and we bundled in the kitchen to keep warm and rationed the food and firewood Thorin would tell us stories of a treasure so great that none of our people would ever be cold or hungry again. But when I saw what it did to him, turning him away from kith and kin, and the hurts that my brother came to over it, I find that I desire it no more.”

 

* * *

 

_Down in the roots where no light finds its way there are caverns not mined by any hand of the living but by time and water, the lift and rise of stone, the steady-slow drip of wet minerals. These places are known, these places are sacred, these places are only visited with serious purpose. Two figures walk down carefully-cleared pathways, lanterns in their hands. In some places the path is so narrow they must squeeze through - tight, even though superfluous layers had been shed at the beginning. In some places the path opens up, passing dark side-passages as yet unexplored, openings to darkness that breathed warm air at them. There is a cavern larger than anything Legolas has ever seen. The light from the lanterns just fading away into darkness. The floor slopes down to water - a perfectly still and reflective pool that even his eyes cannot see into. The smaller of the two lights an arrow from their lantern, sets it to his bow-string and shoots it up into the air. The long arc flickers up and away from them, and for just a moment they catch a glimpse of fantastic shapes before the arrow plunges in with a distant hiss. No mortal has seen all of it. Only The Maker and perhaps Tharkûn. The Dwarf’s face is radiant._

  


* * *

 

 

**“That Which Does Not Fade”**

  


For sixty years a carefully-guarded peace settled over the land. One Prince roamed across the west, returning to the forest of his birth as events allowed. One Prince travelled the lands near his adopted kingdom, spending most of the year in his appointed tasks, the winter's snow sheltering inside with his mother and brother. Once or twice a year their paths would cross and their friendship would pick up where they had left off, these two laughing souls. And as the years went on the Dwarf grew a respectable beard and longer hair while the Elf gained wisdom beyond his woodland halls, but their sense of adventure-shared never faded.

Kili was there when the messenger came in the night, calling for Fili at the gate. He wanted information of _Hobbits,_ claiming their burglar had taken some little trifle his master fancied, _a ring. “Such a small thing. Such a little thing.”_ The company alone knew about Bilbo’s ring and how he came by it. Dwarves were no strangers to magical craft, but Gandalf had sworn them to secrecy over it, so they spoke of it not even when they journeyed to The Shire to visit. Kili wanted to come to Bilbo’s defense yet his mother’s hand on his shoulder silenced him. Bilbo, he knew, was long in Rivendell having been escorted from his rather infamous party by various members of the Company. He sent a raven to the Greenwood, warning them of Mordor’s messenger, Legolas was already on his way to the house of Elrond to report the loss of a very important prisoner. Kili wanted to go, but was forestalled by his brother sending Gloin and Gimli instead. “Be at peace, naddith. I would not risk your safety,” Fili soothed him. “Besides, it may not be long before war once again is at our doorstep. I will need you here.”

And indeed war did come to their gates once more and the people of Dale sheltered under Fili’s protection. Sauron sent the Easterlings of Rhûn against them while orcs from Dol Guldur assaulted the Greenwood and Lorien. Dain Ironfoot marched his forces down from the Iron Hills and he fought side-by-side with the Golden Lion and the Raven of Erebor. King Brand marched out with them with his tall warriors and it was a terrible battle. Both Dain and Brand fell and it seemed to Kili that it would be the same as before, when he and his brother fell defending Thorin. But then a sound came to them as thunder and it was if the sky were rent apart and the ground shook beneath their feet. The enemy lost direction then and many fell down upon their faces and begged for mercy while many ran mad and most seemed to just slip away back towards their homelands, their oaths fulfilled. And even though they were grieved over their losses they could only wait in fear and wonder for word from the south.

When it did come it was in the form of a raven from Gimli - and that news brought great joy to his mother and father, but it also said that there was a once again a King in Gondor and that the services of Durin’s Folk were greatly needed to repair the grievous hurts done by the enemy. With his family’s blessings Kili wasted no time in assembling a large company of Dwarves well-skilled in the crafts of stone and metalwork and took the Trade Road south to Gondor. They arrived in time for the wedding of King Elessar and Arwen Undómiel, and while Kili was glad to bring them the friendship of Erebor and of his people, he was most happy to find both Gimli and Legolas not only safe from harm but firm in their friendship.

“There is great work to do here,” Gimli told him. “The city itself is much damaged and her gates are wrent. Things are even worse in Osgiliath, where Faramir and Eowyn shall reside once the city is restored. They remain here for now for their home is in rubble.”

They were walking together near the ironworks the Dwarves were setting up. Much larger than anything this city had ever seen, necessary to recast the mighty gates. “Erebor will supply the labor for as much of the rebuilding as we can.” Kili looked up at the shattered walls. “We had a rough time of it, but nothing like this!”

“Wait until you see The Hornburg!” Gimli continued. “It is man-built, but the stone is good. We will make such a fortress of it that armies will break upon it like water! And the Glittering Caverns, they will require special handling Kili. We cannot allow boots treading through there unto its ruination…”

Legolas he found wandering with the Elves in the gardens of Ithilien, coaxing the war-ravaged lands back to life, working to restore the beautiful forest and rich farmlands that had once been the jewel of Gondor. Legolas had called the Elves of the Greenwood to come and clean the land of the taint of Mordor.

 

* * *

 

 

_Pink and white blossoms falling around them as they walk. This sweet place of little streams and fragrant herbs where the Ring Bearers walked. It took his heart home to the familiar steps of his childhood, a place of sunlight and gentle breezes. Bees hummed along contentedly, making up for the years lost to them, collecting and pollinating. Tiny birds chirped at them from branch and bush. This peaceful place in the middle of so much hurt. A safe place, where two friends could talk of home. He turned at the sound of laughter, Legolas’ laughter like a clear bell that carried up the hillsides. Legolas smiled with joy to see his friend’s dark hair graced with a dusting of pink and white flower petals. Together they walked off down the trail, a group of young rabbits watching them go from the trees._

 

* * *

 

And so it continued for more than a century - with Kili travelling to south every few years, Gimli and Legolas returning north when he did not. And the land prospered and the free peoples of Middle Earth knew peace and the three of them knew friendship that would last the age. Until one day the Elf noticed grey hair where none had been before, crinkles around eyes and mouths on beloved faces and old wounds that now ached when the winter’s cold set in. He felt the pull of the of the sea and heard the call of the Undying Lands where the First Born go. And so Gimli surrendered his office and asked permission to take his leave of friends and family. Fili granted it with no small amount of regret for they along with Dwalin were now the last of those friends come from Ered Luin in those long ago days of Dragons and Hobbits and past Kings. For Legolas it was the same; of Frodo’s companions only he and Gimli were left in Middle Earth, and while he would live seemingly forever, his friends would not.

And in time it also came to pass that Fili and Kili, having served their people long and well, also passed from Middle Earth and went together to the Halls of Waiting where The Maker knew their names and bid them enter. And there they found waiting for them their own father, who had watched all their adventures with love and pride, and Thorin was with them, and Dis, who had gone before them. And there, Dear Reader, we shall leave them to their well deserved rest until the world is remade.

  
  


 

_**\- FIN -** _

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed. This is my first piece of aesthetic fiction. 
> 
> A heartfelt "Thank You" to TheGreenSorceress for holding my hand because I am needy and crave reassurance. 
> 
> As always - comments are food for a writer's soul and so encourage them to write more.
> 
>  
> 
> Translations to follow:
> 
> English: My heart shall weep until I see you again  
> Literal: My heart will weep to the time when we will meet again  
> Sindarin: Guren *níniatha n'i lû n'i a-govenitham
> 
> English: I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh  
> Literal: I delight when [familiar] your eyes shine when [familiar] you laugh  
> Sindarin: *Gellon ned i gelir i chent gîn ned i lelig
> 
> I hope you will have green and golden paths ~ Harthon gerithach raid gelin a melthin
> 
> My friend/friends ~ mellon/mellyn nín
> 
> Adum-rum, naddith - Welcome back, brother that is young (little brother)
> 
> A star shines on the occasion of our meeting ~ Êl síla nan lû e-govaded vín  
> May useful winds speed you on ~ Hortho le huil vaer  
> It is my joy to see you again ~ Glass nín le/gen achened  
> Tharkûn = Gandalf 
> 
> http://tara.istad.org/sind-phrases.htm


End file.
